


slip

by felixfelicitas



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Addiction, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 00:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12664857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felixfelicitas/pseuds/felixfelicitas
Summary: Clark had heard the scripts all the Follows doctors had to read recited back to him more times than he’d care to count.Recovery isn’t a straight line.Relapse is a normal part of recovery.This isn’t a failure.Actually making himself believe them was something else.





	slip

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for central themes of addiction, relapse, and drug use/abuse.
> 
> I appreciate that addiction in Fallout isn’t treated as something that just happens to other people, and I understand why they set up the game mechanics this way, especially in Fo3 and beyond, but g-d it kind of fucking sucks that your character gets access to these unrealistic miracle cures for both short and long term, while you see other characters struggling with the exact same issues, so this is my attempt to show a more realistic experience.
> 
> Harrison Clark is my courier six, Trev Wolf is a non-courier oc of mine and Clark’s boyfriend, I talk about them both on my tumblr (current url is docmobius).

  
Clark had heard the scripts all the Follows doctors had to read recited back to him more times than he’d care to count.  
  
_Recovery isn’t a straight line._  
_Relapse is a normal part of recovery._  
_This isn’t a failure._  
  
Actually making himself believe them was something else.  
  
His mind was starting to clear a bit as he sobered up, five hours since his last injection of Med-X, and the disgust and guilt were rushing back in again. He’d made it so far this time, and so much of him was screaming to run, to leave the cursed casino he’d been trapped in till now without any chems in his pockets and force his way into sobriety again, and pretend like his six months coming up was still valid.  
  
Sure, it’d be dangerous, but withdrawal hadn’t killed him last time and he could easily get Fixer. It’d take him about four days, three if he was lucky, to walk back to Vegas. If he dawdled, added an extra day on, he wouldn’t have to face anyone who might pay close attention to him till the worst of the symptoms were over.  
  
Arcade would know, though; he’d be watching for it, like Clark had agreed to, asked for even, and he’d see it just as plainly as Domino and Royce could see his hand jerk involuntarily drop the chip he was trying to feed into the vending machine. He cursed softly and banged his head against its surface.  
  
Christine kicked lightly at his shins till he turned to look at her. She crossed her arms and glanced briefly at his pile of chips, before cocking her head and narrowing her eyes at him in question. Clark grimaced and flicked his eyes away, and attempted a shrug. She huffed at him, and he spared a glance backward.  
  
Christine'd been sticking close to him, trying to keep him between her and Dean. Clark didn’t mind; he’d gotten on far better with her even before they'd learned what Domino had done, both to her and to Keyes. The ghoul himself was farther off, pretending not to care, but Clark could still practically feel the distaste rolling off him and it made his lip curl. Far enough off though, and he turned his head back to her.  
  
"Dangerous t' detox alone," he muttered, though he still didn’t look Christine in the eye.  
  
He’d already put one hundred eighty-seven of the two hundred chips into the machine in exchange for nine vials of Med-X, with the tenth on its way. Enough, theoretically, to get him back to the Followers, where he could actually get real help again, without diving too deeply into withdrawal.  
  
He wasn’t sure if he was really concerned for the withdrawal, or was just searching for excuses to keep using, truth told.  
  
Clark was miserable.  
  
\--  
  
First two days were… manageable. He split from the others to make his journey back to the abandoned bunker he was taken from early, the light from the Pip-Boy as he used the first shot blinking out 06:34.  
  
It’s easy to loose track, walking alone. he must have slept at some point, ate at some point, but the details blurred together in one long smudged picture.  
  
It was nostalgic in the worst of ways, and the shock of the bright sun when he pulled himself out of the bunker onto the sand around thirty-three hours later was honestly relieving.  
  
Boone had stuck around Forlorn Hope after Clark had disappeared, because of fucking course he did.  
  
Clark figures he should probably try to be more fair to him, but it’s hard to be charitable when someone’s hovering over your shoulder worse than the doctor trying to examine you is. Richards gave up quickly though, bless him, and Clark crashed in the first empty bed they could spare.  
  
\--  
  
He could tell Boone didnt like it, but he didnt protest when Clark insisted they leave the camp when he finally woke at two in the morning. Clark snuck another dose while Boone threw his things together.  
  
He could also tell Boone was worried, and wanted to ask after answers, but the other man stayed silent, which was another blessing. He did push for them to rest a few hours when they reached Novac, which Clark grudgingly agreed to.  
  
Day three was hell.  
  
His body ached, his arm in particular throbbed, chronic issues rather than the chems, and he used four doses in twenty-four hours to keep the burning pain manageable.  
  
The walk back was solemn as they pushed on in the heat of the day. They settled for camp in the evening, about four hours walking south of New Vegas. Clark was jittery, wanting to make it to the city as soon as possible, but his body was exhausted, and he resignedly agreed when Boone pushed for once.  
  
"How bad are you hurt?" Boone finally asked as they sat at the campfire. Clark breathed out slow and heavy.  
  
"It’s fine," he muttered. Boone grunted and lit a cigarette.  
  
"You’ve been out of it all day, either you’re in pain or on something."  
  
"’s the arm, don’t worry," Clark half lied. He didn’t look up from watching the fire. "Just wanna have the Followers see it, know me best."  
  
Boone frowned, but held out his pack for Clark take one and didn’t say anything further.  
  
\--  
  
They made it into Freeside by mid morning, four and a half hours into the last shot of Med-X, and about six hours into Clark’s internalized panic attack.  
  
Boone briefly paused near the gates of the Old Mormon Fort, but he followed and didn’t say anything when Clark kept walking.  
  
"Arcade," he finally managed, and Boone nodded.  
  
\--  
  
Victor’s cheerful declaration of the floor did nothing to assuage his terror, especially as he heard low yet still recognizable voices coming from the kitchen. Boone stared at him but Clark pushed him off towards his room, and he grudgingly left.  
  
Clark cautiously stepped around the corner to peer into the kitchen.  
  
Trev cut off his conversation with Arcade when he spotted him and stood up so fast he almost knocked over his coffee. Arcade, already standing, spun around too and blinked hard.  
  
"Hey," he started, already feeling his voice crack into something even more hoarse. Trev rushed forwards and Clark leaned in as he grabbed the back of his head to pull him into a rough kiss. Trev pulled back after a few seconds to press their foreheads together.  
  
"Stop fucking disappearing," he hissed, fear lacing into his tone and the desperate grip of his fingers. Clark closed his eyes and lift his left hand to cup his jaw.  
  
"'m sorry."  
  
"It’s not your fault I know I know, it’s just- fuck."  
  
"Yeah," Clark replied. He swallowed hard and pulled back. He slid his hand down to rest on Trev’s shoulder as he opened his eye and flicked his gaze over towards Arcade, still standing there.  
  
"Doc-" he started.  
  
"What happened?" Trev asked, overlapping by accident, and Clark snapped his jaw shut.  
  
"No, shit, you go first," he quickly followed up. Clark shook his head ever so slightly, eye still fixed on Arcade as he walked closer.  
  
"Harrison?" Arcade questioned, and Clark winced.  
  
"I- got taken, don’t wanna talk on it yet, and fucked up a bit," he confessed.  
  
"Wait what the fuck do you mean did you get kidnapped I fucking knew something bad was gunna happen-"  
  
"What do you mean, uh, messed up?" Arcade tried to cut over Trev’s panicked rant.  
  
"The, um." Clark thought about retreating out of his partner’s protective hold, but he stayed. He forced himself to look Arcade in the eyes even as he started to curl in on himself, and he saw the doctor narrowed his eyes as he saw his constricted pupil.  
  
"Slipped up, used again," he said, weakly.  
  
Arcade sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. Clark swallowed hard, and he could feel Trev’s grip in his hair momentarily tighten, before he let go and rubbed his neck soothingly. Clark flinched away from the touch, his fingers pressing where the collar had sat, and Trev instictively shifted his hand to rub his shoulder over the cloth of his shirt instead.  
  
"What are you on, and for how long?" Arcade asked. He sounded drawn out, exhausted, but clinical inquiries were easier to answer than emotional let-downs.  
  
"Med-X, been around two weeks, last shot 'bout five hours ago," Clark muttered in reply, refusing to look at either of them again. Arcade sighed out again.  
  
"How’s your mood doing?" he asked.  
  
"Fine," Clark muttered again. "Withdrawal hasn’t kicked in too bad yet," he continued, guessing at Arcade’s actual question.  
  
Trev pet his hair, pushing his forehead against his shoulder.  
  
"That’s bullshit babe." Clark sighed deeply.  
  
"Dunno what you want me t’ say. I fucked up," he replied. "Did my best and it was shit, and 'm back where I started. I’m fucking  _great_."  
  
Arcade hesitantly patted his arm.  
  
"It happens, and you told us, and that’s what important," Trev said, though he also sounded tired.   
  
"Citius venit malum quam revertitur," Arcade muttered under his breath, and Clark felt Trev’s hand still as he mentally struggled to translate from the little Latin he’d learned.  
  
"Were you wanting to try to detox here, or not to risk it and go to the main camp from the start?" Arcade asked.  
  
While Clark paused, thinking, he continued, "Regardless of your choice, I think you should talk to the others. I understand you wanting to keep it under wraps before, but if they can provide any help, either directly or through Trev or I, I don’t know if you can afford to miss out on that."  
  
"Sure," he murmured.  
  
"Yeah?" Trev questioned and tilted his head at him. Clark grimaced.  
  
"Fuck it, yeah sure," he repeated. "And I don’t wanna go, you can just tell 'em all." He buried his face against his boyfriend, and Trev slipped an arm around his back. Arcade nodded and gave another pat as he started to move past.  
  
"I’ll go get my bag."  
  
"Sorry to, y’know, disappoint," Clark called back, and Arcade paused.  
  
"You didn’t  _disappoint_ us," Trev lied. Clark swung his head to frown at him, and Trev glared back. "What?"  
  
"If I wasn’t ready to be disappointed I wouldn’t have become a doctor," Arcade replied. Trev glared at him instead.  
  
"I’m upset _for_ you, not at you," Trev tried again, sounding more genuine. Arcade sighed.  
  
"I was excited for your progress. This is a setback, and I’m disappointed it happened, but you didn’t try to hide it," Arcade began, "You’ve made it through this before, you’ll make it through again. Just remember that we’ll all be here to help." Arcade gave him a brief smile, and he ducked out through the doorway. 

**Author's Note:**

> citius venit malum quam revertitur - evil arrives faster than it leaves


End file.
